Two final things before I sign off for the weekend:
1) Thanks to John for solving my Rain Today problem. (Rain Today history: Too long and boring to go into, but basically, it’s an inside joke.) The solution’s in the source code, if you’re interested.
2) I am 46 years old, and it finally happened, not 20 minutes ago. For the first time in my life, I stepped on a bee. Barefoot. Actually, I think it was a wasp (yellow jacket), but now that it’s happened, I know that all the other times I thought I’d been stung by our stinger-carrying yellow-striped friends were just love taps. God almighty, but this hurts. My foot feels like it’s simmering in a pot of hot lead.
Once, years ago, I gave the speech at the Allen County Beekeepers’ Association Harvest Banquet, and mentioned to the group that to my knowledge, I’d never been stung. This caused a murmur to rumble through the crowd exactly like the ones in old movies. “You mean you don’t know your sensitivity?” bellowed one geezer from the crowd. “No,” I said. More murmurs. Then they gave me two pounds of honey as a thank-you gift. Nice guys.
Also, maybe you’re wondering: Perhaps the Washington Post recently ran a lengthy essay on getting bitten by critters/insects/what-have-you in summer? Why, you’d be right. It’s here.
My foot is killing me.